We bought you on a Sunday; we were running out of time
The rental car had to be returned, we had a little less than a day.
It was your green that caught my attention; not a seafoam or a lime
Something they call 'kiwi', (although no fruit looks that way)
You weren't the newest car in the lot
You were basically the car everyone else forgot
But you are my car, even so
And it's to you I write this ode.
You'll never hold four carseats and you can't turn on a dime
You keep telling me the liftgate's ajar, no matter what I say
You're far too conspicuous for me to use you in a crime
(Then again, that's why I have those alibis, anyway)
The shiniest car? That you are not.
Still, you are the car that we bought.
And there is one reason I wrote you this ode
(trust me, it's not that you have Sirius radio)
It's because you are so very green and that will never change
I also love you because there's no tree on your face.
(I know that that's two reasons - I must beg your mercy
I wrote this whole poem with a toddler on me)